The Virgin King
by erunyauve
Summary: Complete. All of the elves who survived the Elder Days suffered loss. How did their response to such loss affect the future of Middle-earth? Gil-galad-Celebrian, Elrond-Celebrian
1. Celebrian

**Author's Notes:** I'm working on a very different sequel to 'The Boy King', but during an online discussion, it occurred to me that it might be interesting to write about Gil-galad as Tolkien created him - the hero who never married and failed to produce an heir (we shall ignore the slashy undertones of his relationship with Elrond). When Finch asked for a birthday fic in which elves adhered without exception to the 'Laws and Customs of the Eldar', I thought my little plot bunny would fit. I've broken the story into two chapters due to length.  
  
This fic assumes Gil-galad as the son of Orodreth, that Elrond and Elros were raised to adulthood by Maglor and fought in the War of Wrath, that Amras was killed at Losgar and that Celeborn and Galadriel began the Second Age in Harlindon. [1] I've also borrowed Finch's idea that Finrod and Amárië were secretly bonded before he left Aman (though this fic departs somewhat from the story as Finch envisioned it). [2] I've set Celebrian's birth around 420 Second Age, though she probably was not born until later in the Second Age, most likely in Ost-in-Edhil. [3]  
  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of a few minor OCs. Translations of Elvish (Sindarin, unless otherwise noted) and additional notes are at the end of the chapter.  
  
Happy birthday, Finch! And I did manage to get Finrod to make a nude cameo.  
  


**Celebrian**  
  


**109 Third Age**  
  
"_Galu dín o glass a mîl anno Eru nan-mbar hen_," Celeborn intoned, placing his daughter's hand in that of her betrothed. "And," he continued, with a conspiratorial wink, "may your bed bless the parents of the bride with many grandchildren." [4]  
  
"Adar!" Celebrian laughed, as her blushing husband leaned forward to seal the ceremony with a chaste kiss. "And you need not look so scandalized, Elrond Peredhel," she said into his ear. "You are as eager as I am to bid goodnight to our guests and get on with the business of begetting such children."  
  
Elrond relaxed, resting an arm comfortably about her waist as they mingled in the crowd of well-wishers. He could not later recall any of this folk, for he had eyes only for the cascade of silver and gold curls of his wife. His wife…he had waited nearly an age to call her by this title, and even now, he could not entirely rid himself of a sense of disloyalty, even treason.  
  
'I trust you will find your heart again in the Houses of Mandos, _Tauren_,' he offered in silent prayer, his eyes looking West toward those shadowy halls. [5]  
  
**Laer, 520 Second Age**  
  
Galadriel lay still, careful not to disturb her husband's dreams, wishing her own would come to relieve her disquiet. At last, she reconciled herself to wakefulness and rose to peer from the window. The servants had extinguished the colorful lanterns - Celebrian's work - that lit the garden at night, and now walked the paths of their own dreams. The garden lay in darkness, but it did not sleep - crickets sang their serenades to one another, birds of the night hunted, calling to their mates. Sharp elven eyes could just pick out a fox in the underbrush. The lady smiled to herself. Arda marred, indeed! She could almost imagine herself looking upon the Garden of Lórien, so peaceful was this scene.  
  
Still, she felt a chill as she let herself into the night, though the flagstones under her feet retained the warmth of the sun. The chill came from her heart, from the same uneasiness that kept her from her dreams. Her feet, as if guided by a spirit wiser than her own, brought her to the still water of her mirror. In the grief of Thingol's death, Melian had made certain of two treasures before withdrawing her power and presence from Doriath: the Silmaril she placed in the safekeeping of unhappy Mablung, and her mirror she gave to Galadriel. The Maia trusted that the lady's wisdom would recognize it as a tool of great power, a tool not to be used injudiciously. Galadriel had not disappointed her mentor; the mirror saw sparing use. There were things to come, she knew, that the elves were not meant to foresee - things they were not meant to change, for to do so would bring disharmony to the music of Ilúvatar's creation.  
  
The lady knew her mirror would bring no comfort to her worried mind. From the decanter, water flowed in a black stream under the faint light of Ithil's waning crescent, and the mirror rippled, images passing over its surface. She saw herself in Doriath, charmed by a Sindarin lord. She saw Finrod's lips form a silent question: "Are you sure?" The currents shifted, revealing something new, yet long past: two elves, their unclothed bodies curled together amid tangled sheets. She recognized her father's house in Tirion, and gasped at a half-finished sculpture, surrounded by dust cloths and tools. The sculpture would never be completed. The mirror conjured an image of her daughter, her face wreathed in sorrow as she boarded a white ship; the mirror placed her daughter on the moor, alone as her heart poured out its regret. The scene darkened as woodland replaced the moor, and Celebrian's face faded into that of Aredhel.  
  
A moment before the water grew still, she caught a fleeting image, lips moving in a bitter oath. 'Brother, what are you trying to tell me? What warning do you bring?' She stared at the mirror's inscrutable surface. ''Oh, Finrod," she whispered. She understood, now, the guilt that had driven her brother to predict his doom. Galadriel winced, hearing again her intrusive question, her thoughtless words and Finrod's fateful response. No, not thoughtless - Finrod had chosen to keep his secret from her.  
  
The impulse that had bound Finrod to Amárië would not, she was certain, bring lasting sorrow to the lovers. Her brother would be rehoused and return to his wife, and their love would overcome Finrod's desertion. Desire of the hroa had bound them, but their fëar had already become one.  
  
She knew, now, why the mirror had summoned her daughter.  
  


**~~~~~**  
  


The summer had been inordinately hot in the Noldorin capital. Gil-galad had taken to spending his nights on a couch in his library. Uncomfortable as he found these accommodations - for the couch fell well short of his tall frame - he preferred them to his chambers on the third level of _Minas Silivren_. Ordinarily, Forlond knew cool summers and bitter winters, when icy winds from the northern seas whipped across the unprotected cliffs of Forlindon without mercy. Such harsh conditions troubled the Noldor but little - were they not the people who crossed the Helcaraxë and guarded the frigid lands of the Leaguer of Angband? [6]  
  
Gil-galad's companion had come of age in the green meadows and pleasant weather of Harlindon. Warm waters from the south caressed the western shore and kept that region much more temperate than its twin headland to the north. Consequently, Celebrian thought the warm night pleasant and suggested a walk. Once out of the stone walls and cobbled streets of the city, Gil-galad saw the wisdom of the maid, for the air cooled and a gentle breeze rustled in the heather and short, stunted trees of this inhospitable land. They lay now on a cushion of moor grass, engaged in that favorite pastime of the elves, observation of the stars. To the Firstborn, the lights of Varda are neither a vast array of light, nor, as to the more discerning among men, mere constellations. Nay, to the elf, each star is unique. Ithil had cloaked himself in darkness this night, and the stars seemed especially bright against the ink-black curtain drawn across the sky.  
  
While the dome of Varda captured Celebrian's eyes, Gil-galad's attention had turned to another subject that brought him great pleasure. Oh, he had resisted the maid's wiles, held himself distant and aloof, when she came to Minas Silivren to study with Pengolodh. He had reckoned without the pressing impetus of youth, for he had long put that age behind him. Indeed, he wondered if he had ever been so innocent. The trauma of his family's death and, not many years later, his ascension to High King had forced him to confront more sober matters than courting.  
  
Celebrian, in the bloom of her maidenhood and with all of its attendant desires, had made up her mind to force the High King's cool defenses, and in this it may be said that much of the mother had passed to the daughter. Repeated assaults left his battlements confused and in disarray, and he had succumbed at last to her not inconsiderable charms. Their courtship had worn away his remaining reservations and Gil-galad now found the thought of a year's betrothal almost unendurable, for long-suppressed passions proved impatient with the necessary formalities.  
  
Galadriel and Celeborn, seeing further than most of their race, had wisely waited to bear their child. Celebrian had known only peace and love in her short years. No shadow of sorrow darkened her eyes or belabored her brow with weariness. A tendril of hair strayed in the wind across that brow, and Gil-galad moved to brush it away, that it not hide any part of the maid's lovely face.  
  
She met the bright eyes of her courtier with something other than tenderness. She traced the fine Noldorin features, her fingertip running from cheekbone to jaw, eventually coming to his lips. He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers reverently. With the impatience of youth, Celebrian snaked her free arm around his neck and met his lips with hers, wanting more than mere adulation. Catching fire from her passion, her suitor stroked the thin material of her summer dress where it stretched taught over her breasts. Frustrated, she drew him closer, feeling the hard evidence of his awakened passion against her leg.  
  
With a sigh of regret, Gil-galad disentangled himself. Were they elves of less lofty birth, their coupling with only Varda as witness might raise a few eyebrows. It would never do, however, for the High King to bind himself to the daughter of Galadriel on a lonely heath. "If we do not return to the city, I fear we shall have much to explain to your formidable mother," he said, sitting up.  
  
Celebrian smiled ruefully. "These partings grow more arduous each night," she admitted. She brushed grass from her hair and dress, her eyes looking east, avoiding the gaze of the other elf. "There is a light over the city. I wonder what that could be."  
  
"That is the dawn," Gil-galad answered with an amused groan. "We have outlasted the night, _melethen_." He hoped Galadriel had retired early; he had been caught once already at a disadvantage and did not want to repeat the previous evening's confrontation. [7]  
  


**~~~~~**  
  


"I trust your better judgment has stayed you from rash and irrevocable actions?"  
  
Gil-galad girded his temper, irritated with the Golden Lady's tone and her intrusion into his private library. His kinswoman never forgot her place as the granddaughter of Finwë. By her sex, she had been cheated of the crown and made subject to her much younger _Moriquende_ kinsman, and Gil-galad sensed Galadriel's resentment. "Galadriel, let us not play games with words. What is your meaning?" [8]  
  
"Think, son of Orodreth. Your father loved the Valar even as he followed us from Aman. Surely he taught the Laws in his house."  
  
"She is yet a maid, if that is what you ask. I intend to ask for her hand." He did not look away from her eyes, curious to see her response.  
  
Galadriel kept her face carefully neutral, but felt pity in her heart. "Tread cautiously, Gil-galad. Rarely does the hroa of the Firstborn lead in place of the fëa. Yet such has been the case before among the descendants of Finwë." Desires of the body, she knew, were especially hard for the young to deny. 'And for the not-so-young,' she thought, recalling her brother and unhappy cousin. This bonding, she felt, would be disastrous.  
  


**~~~~~**  
  


Gil-galad considered the last words he had said to Galadriel, turning them over in his mind. It was time he spoke of his intentions to Celebrian, though he could not rid himself of the doubt that niggled at his mind. The lovers hurried back to the palace, meeting no one save the guards at the tower's doors. The younger of the pair greeted the lovers impassively. "Good evening, Tauren, _Brennilen_." [9]  
  
The more ancient of the guards noted the bits of gorse still clinging to their clothes, and his eyes crinkled with amusement. "Nay, Moebeth, 'good morn' is more appropriate."  
  
The High King attempted a censorial glance, but could only manage rather sheepishly raised eyebrows. Celebrian winked at the older guard as they passed through the doors, and he had to stifle a laugh. 'That one would bring some fire to these cold halls,' the elf thought admiringly.  
  
As they reached Celebrian's rooms, Gil-galad put a light hand on her arm as he nervously ordered his words, speaking more formally than was his wont.  
  
"Brennilen, I become fodder for amusement in my own palace. Such a thing can be remedied only with your help." He had a sudden certainty that she would refuse him. "It is my wish to make a bond of our love." He passed his hand nervously through his hair, straining to keep his feet still in the interminable seconds that passed between the two elves.  
  
Celebrian stared at the floor, avoiding the High King's hopeful eyes. "I will not say no, but I must have time to consider this. It is more than I expected, and too grave a decision to make without consulting my heart."  
  
"Of course," Gil-galad answered too quickly, hoping that he gave the impression he had expected nothing more.  
  
Still, Celebrian heard the quiver of disappointment in his voice. Closing the door to her rooms, she felt relief at this physical barrier between them. She sank weakly into a sofa in her dressing room. She knew she should be elated…but she felt nothing.  
  
"This is not what I wanted at all."  
  
"_Sell nín?_" [10]  
  
Celebrian made a face. She loved her mother, but at times Galadriel had the momentum of a boulder crashing down a hill - one either removed oneself from her path, or waited to be crushed.  
  
"Your walks with the King grow later." Galadriel came from the sitting room, still fully dressed, a book in her hand.  
  
"Naneth, I am hardly a child, to be told when I might go out and who I might see. What brings you here from Harlond, and why are you skulking around the palace in the middle of the night? Gil-galad said that you visited him last night, late, yet I see nothing of you until now."  
  
"I expected you much earlier." Galadriel sat down next to her daughter, sensing the maid's anger, and underneath it, distress. "Peace, Celebrian. I come not to scold you for late night outings - you are indeed too old for that, though they perhaps explain the unfavorable reports from _Hîr_ Pengolodh. [11]  
  
"Oh, Pengolodh!" Celebrian said crossly. "I believe he has taken a dislike to me and deliberately seeks out the most obscure passages for translation." Her mother insisted that she continue her studies, though she acknowledged that Celebrian's interests lay elsewhere. As for Pengolodh, the loremaster had long ago wed himself to his books, and had little patience for elf-maids with more interest in kisses than Quenya.  
  
Galadriel refused to be diverted from the concerns that had brought her to Minas Silivren. "I am worried, Celebrian, that you may act too hastily in your liaison with the King."  
  
"Speak frankly, Naneth. You are jealous, and as you cannot have his crown, he will not have your jewel. I am surprised," Celebrian added with a tinge of bitterness, unable to halt this flow of words, "for if you cannot be Queen, would it not be convenient to have a grandson as the King's heir?"  
  
The lady stood, wounded more than her daughter knew. "Do you think so little of me, that I would trade my daughter's happiness for selfish ambition? My jewel, indeed - you are more precious to me than any crown. It is your chance for happiness that warns me against your marriage to the King."  
  
Celebrian felt tears sting her eyes. Her words smarted like bile in her throat. Still, her stubborn will rebelled against her mother's interference. "It is not for you to decide. Gil-galad has asked for my hand. I intend to accept."  
  


**~~~~~**  
  


The betrothal ceremony seemed but a dream to Celebrian. They exchanged rings, spoke their intentions before their families. Celebrian looked at the face of the elf to whom she was to be bonded until Arda be unmade and saw love she could not return. Her mother had been right to treat her as a child, for she had behaved as a child. Gil-galad, innocent of any wrongdoing, would be hurt most by her folly. She could not be so cruel.  
  
**Firith, 520 Second Age**  
  
Gohíniel came originally from Amrod's folk, those who had roamed with him in the forests of East Beleriand. They held allegiance to none but their lord, and when Amrod at last joined his brother in the Houses of Mandos, they turned in fury upon the host of Maedhros. Those who survived had managed to make peace with the folk on Balar. Gohíniel alone remained with the Fëanorians, for she was a healer and they had need of her. "A healer cares little whether the patient is friend or foe - he is only someone in pain," she explained to Elrond.  
  
She taught him what she knew, though she could not instruct him in the cultivation of herbs and other plants necessary to their trade. Those final years of the Elder Days had seen the folk of Maedhros and Maglor constantly on the move to evade the enemy, for they had no longer sufficient number to challenge Morgoth's servants. As they retreated ever closer to the Ered Luin, they remained in no place long enough to sow a garden.  
  
Celebrian, however, knew a great deal about gardening - her father attributed her love for green things to the Lasgalen branch of his family - and she had obtained a patch of the kitchen gardens in which to putter about in her spare time. Even now, with Pengolodh and Gil-galad competing for her attention, she found time to work her little plot of land. Indeed, the garden brought more ease to her troubled mind than either of those elves.  
  
The elf-maid cut a swathe of goldenrod and handed the bundle to Elrond. "It seems to me that there should be more to love, and I fear that he feels something I do not share."  
  
"You love him, but you are not in love," Elrond suggested, glancing at the elf-maid. Valar, she was lovely. He found unreasonable happiness in her nearness, and he would be content merely to sit in the glow of her presence for hours. She was not for him, he reminded himself. It would never do to fall in love with the betrothed of his dearest friend.  
  
Celebrian stopped. "Not precisely. I find him attractive. And when I am with him, there are things I want - these feelings I have - but no more."  
  
"You are attracted to him."  
  
Celebrian nodded emphatically, kneeling in the dirt to collect a sprig of thyme. "He is beautiful, and Elbereth help me, but my flesh would cleave to him. Yet I do not love him." She added her clipping to Elrond's burden, hiding a smile as she saw the bookish Peredhel redden at her confession.  
  
In truth, part of Elrond's embarrassment arose from his own unchaste thoughts. He had seen her grow from an elf-child into the voluptuous beauty of maidenhood: tall and well endowed with the physical gifts of her sex, with a sturdy frame she might have inherited from either of her parents. He could smell the violets she had twisted into her hair, and though he tried to avert his eyes, he could not help but admire her creamy white cleavage as she moved about her tasks.  
  
His heart soared with her revelation. He had long held his feelings in check, acting as confidant and friend to Celebrian, though his fëa cried out in protest when he saw her with the King. Yet her words only complicated the matter. This marriage would lock her forever into a bond for which she was not meant, but to warn her of this would betray his friend and sovereign.  
  
"Perhaps you should tell him the truth, rather than deceive him and defraud your heart." The words had a sour taste as he said them. Celebrian thought him impartial; his King trusted him as he trusted no other. He dealt falsely with both his friends.  
  


**~~~~~**  
  


The afternoon passed in session with the King's Council. By the time tea was served, Gil-galad had forsaken his chair to stand by the window. His advisors were accustomed to his apparent inattention and simply droned on. From time to time, the High King proved that he listened with at least one ear, interjecting a question or settling a dispute. Elrond took his tea to stand by his friend, glancing out the window at the growing gloom.  
  
"I am bored out of my skull," Gil-galad confided in a whisper. "They speak only to hear themselves talk, and cannot even summon creative insults in their quarrels."  
  
Elrond laughed under his breath. "Shall we adjourn for the evening?"  
  
"Aye - tell them the High King will defenestrate the entire council if he is made to hear one more soliloquy on the rising cost of granite." He saw a rare look of deviltry on Elrond's face and quickly amended, "Valar, do not say that!"  
  
Elrond raised an elegant eyebrow and turned to speak to the council. "We will continue this discussion on…the fascinating subject of granite tomorrow. The High King must hear more details before he can make a decision."  
  
Gil-galad groaned as they descended the stairs. "That windbag will research his precious granite until dawn in preparation for the next meeting. I will not forget this treachery, Elrond." The Peredhel winced, reminded suddenly of Celebrian's dilemma.  
  
In the King's library, the two elves would handle the real work of the day - endless paperwork and correspondence. A servant had already come and gone, leaving behind her a cheery fire and brightly burning lamps. On a side table, a covered plate held a light supper of cheese and fruit, and a flagon of wine waited on the cool windowsill. The servant had stacked the day's messages on the desk. She had not been the last to enter the room, however. A white ribbon lay across the papers.  
  
Elrond swallowed hard as his eyes followed the length of the ribbon to its attachment - a ring of mithril. Under the ring lay a note:  
  
_"I regret, but I cannot."_  
  


* * *

  
[1] 'This fic assumes…'  

    Gil-galad as the son of Orodreth: _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor';  
  
Elrond and Elros raised to adulthood by Maglor: implied by _The Silmarillion_ - if love and respect grew between Maglor and the boys, you would assume he had them for more than a few years;  
  
fought in the War of Wrath: in _LOTR_, Elrond states that he saw the breaking of Thangorodrim;  
  
Amras was killed at Losgar: _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor';  
  
Celeborn and Galadriel began the Second Age in Harlindon: _LOTR_, 'Tale of Years'.  
  

[2] '…Finch's idea that Finrod and Amárië were secretly bonded...'  

    Ref: _'Saying Farewell'_, ff.net storyid=729087  
  

[3] '…Celebrian's birth around 420 Second Age…'  

    As far as I know, Tolkien's only hint about Celebrian's birth and birthplace comes from _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn'. There, he states that Elrond first met Celebrian at Imladris, shortly after the War of the Elves and Sauron. We do know Elrond's whereabouts in the Second Age - he was in Forlond until Gil-galad sent him to the aid of Ost-in-Edhil in 1695. Thus, Celebrian could not have been in Forlond during this time.  
  
This particular passage places Celeborn and Galadriel in Ost-in-Edhil until about 1400, when the Mírdain revolted against them and Galadriel went to Lórinand with Celebrian. We also know that early in the Second Age, Celeborn and Galadriel dwelt in Harlindon, and it seems rather likely that Elrond would have met Celebrian during this time. Thus, based on this passage of _UT_, we can guess that Celebrian was born in Ost-in-Edhil between 750 and 1200 (before Sauron contacted the elves). (ref. pp 246-251, pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  
There are, however, some real problems with this passage in _UT_, as it contradicts _LOTR_ in some places and in others incorporates details later abandoned by Tolkien (for example, in this version, Amroth is still the son of Galadriel and Celeborn). I've actually set Celebrian's birth around the date given for Amroth's birth, and it has some merit - if elves did not breed in troubled times and Sauron was already stirring in 500, we can suppose they might have had their only child during that short period when it seemed evil had really been purged from ME.  
  

[4] "_Galu dín o glass a mîl anno Eru nan-mbar hen_"  

    "May Eru bless this house with much happiness and love" (lit. 'Blessing[s] of joy and love [may] Eru give to this home").  
  

[5] _Tauren_  

    My [High] King  
  

[6] _Minas Silivren_  

    White-shining Tower - we know almost nothing about Forlond, but it seemed to me that Gil-galad would build a tower for his palace, given Noldorin fondness for towers and his early childhood at Minas Tirith.  
  

[7] _melethen_  

    my love  
  

[8] _Moriquende_  

    presumably the singular of _Moriquendi_, Dark Elves (Q)  
  

[9] _Brennilen_  

    My Lady  
  

[10] _Sell nín?_  

    My daughter?  
  

[11] _Hîr_  

    Lord  

  
  



	2. Elrond

**Author's Notes:** This will go one more chapter, as again, I've run a bit longer than I intended and the story seemed to come to a natural break point.  
  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien. Translations of Elvish (Sindarin, unless otherwise noted) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  
  


**Elrond**  
  


Gil-galad had gone white, his pale elven skin so bloodless that his eyes were rimmed with dark shadows and his lips had turned grey. So intense were the elf's emotions, Elrond could almost taste the metallic flavor of shock in his own mouth.  
  
The King was at last moved to action. Taking up the ribbon and the note, he strode through the tower toward Celebrian's rooms. Elrond already guessed they would not find her, but still, he stared at the deserted rooms. In a single afternoon, the elf-maid had erased several decades of residence at the tower, leaving nothing but the scent of violets in her wake.  
  
"Perhaps…she cannot have left the city. She will have to engage a ship, she could not have done that in an afternoon." His duplicity was now complete, Elrond realized miserably.  
  
"And what should I do, if she is still in Forlond?" Gil-galad's harsh laugh jolted him. "Have her dragged back to the palace by my guards?" He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. "No. She is gone," he breathed, as if considering the implications of this for the first time.  
  
Dreams and plans, hopes for a family, had vanished with five simple words. "Leave me," he said tersely.  
  
"Gil… ." The words died on his lips.  
  
The King turned blue-grey eyes on his friend, their brightness dimmed by the heavy storm clouds of his memory - memory of the day he had learned of Nargothrond's fall, that his entire family had perished. The same sense of utter aloneness pervaded the elf. "Leave me!"  
  
Elrond complied, his guilty feet only too eager to flee from these first drops of rain, their warning hardly worthy of the tempest to come. He retired to his rooms, but he could find no solace in the books that usually brought comfort to him. Specters of guilt swarmed around him, their hollow eyes accusing, their bony fingers pointing with condemnation.  
  
A servant came to the door, plainly uneasy with the mood he sensed in his King. "You are wanted in the King's library, _Herdir_ Elrond," he announced. [1]  
  
Gil-galad sat with his chin resting on his steepled fingers. He did not even acknowledge Elrond's presence, so wrapped was he in his thoughts.  
  
'Thoughts of what?' Elrond wondered. Grief? Cold fury? He had always had a sense of his friend's heart, but now, he felt as if he stood before a stranger.  
  
At last, without looking up, Gil-galad gave him leave to sit down. By course of habit, Elrond would have already taken a chair. He did not stand on formality with his friend. He was not so sure, however, that the elf who sat brooding before him was his friend, and it disturbed him that Gil-galad did not think his invitation strange. The very stillness of the King disturbed him; Gil-galad was predictable in his reaction to adversity. He paced. Movement seemed to help him to sort through the tumble in his mind, and he did his best thinking on foot.  
  
His eyes were still stormy, but distant, and he spoke as if from far away. "It was Galadriel. She must have interfered somehow, must have said something to turn away her daughter's heart."  
  
Elrond felt as if a stone had dropped into his stomach. 'No, _mellonen_, you need look no further than before you to see the wolf in your midst,' he chastised himself silently. Aloud, he spoke in defense of Galadriel. "She would not meddle in her daughter's life to such an extent. And Celebrian is not one to be easily cowed by her mother." [2]  
  
He might have found the wall more attentive to his words. Gil-galad had already turned his mind to the treachery of his kin. He gave his trust with a jaded eye, allowing few into his confidence. He had seen how trust had robbed him of his beloved kinsman Finrod, of his family. Trust had made him a King too young. This maid had found her way into his heart, his trust, and he suffered now for his lack of watchfulness.  
  
It would not happen again.  
  
**Eregion, 1697 Second Age**  
  
"Elrond, there are many who can go no further without rest. The children, the wounded - either we stop or we leave them behind."  
  
Elrond turned to face the speaker, recognizing a voice he had not heard in many _ennin_. Though she wore not a gown but leggings and tunic, and had woven her beautiful hair into a practical braid, Celebrian had only grown more lovely since leaving Forlond and her jilted suitor. [3]  
  
She might have told him she had changed in mind as well as body. She was no longer the elf-maid of the past. She joined Elrond as his equal, as a leader among the refugees. [4]  
  
"Someone must look after them," she had explained to her father when they parted ways. Her parents and all who could wield a sword proposed to draw Sauron's forces from the ruined city toward Hadhodrond; Galadriel counted on help from Durin's folk. They hoped this ruse would allow Elrond to escape with the rest of the survivors. [5]  
  
Elrond's party had traveled almost without pause since the previous morning and thus far, they had seen no sign of pursuit. Elrond could not take comfort in this. "We must not tarry long," he said reluctantly, giving the signal to halt.  
  
_Elros rushed into the camp of Maedhros and Maglor. In his excitement, he failed to signal ahead and the elves standing watch only recognized the Peredhel at the last moment. Oblivious to his near miss, he tore through the camp in search of his brother._  
  
_"There are men by the Gelion - Hadorians. They go north to the war. Come, Elrond, let us join them." Elros' eyes shone, his head filled with the romantic stories Maedhros told of the first wars of Beleriand._  
  
_Elrond frowned. He could handle a sword, of course, and had sent a few of Morgoth's creatures to whatever end awaited them. Yet, he had seen also the gore behind the romance, had treated the wounds won in battle._  
  
_"Perhaps we should consider this more carefully, _muindor_."_ [6]  
  
_"They move north in the morning. Besides, it is our duty. Our forefathers were princes among men - how can we stand by and let our people fight while we hide in the wilderness?"_  
  
_Elros always had felt more kinship to their mortal side, but Elrond could not dispute that they had a duty - were these not the people of their grandfather Tuor? In the end, Elrond could not let his brother go off without him, and so they had gone to war._  
  
His brother's death had shocked him. Having chosen to join the kindred of elves, he henceforth found time less precious. At the age of five hundred, he remained a young elf, yet his brother had become a very old man. He had already said his farewells to his brother, had already accepted his death. This he had done when Elros had made his decision. Their parting at Mithlond had been awkward; their respective choices had severed the bond of twinning, and his brother had become strange to him. Elrond preferred to remember his brother as he had been before Eönwë told them of the Valar's decree - as he had been in his dream: impetuous, fiery, full of the spark of youth. By attrition, they had both become captains during the war, but Elros reveled in the endless discussions of strategy; Elros had the charisma to lead and the enthusiasm to love it. The brother who had left Mithlond for Númenor had been every inch a king, a man of great stature, but he was no longer the twin Elrond had once known. [7]  
  
The midday sun hid somewhere in the clouds and the weather was cool. Elves slept in the open, wrapped in their cloaks. He stood and stretched. With the gloomy weather, Sauron's forces would be on the move. Every minute they rested brought the enemy closer.  
  
Celebrian returned to camp with a cart of water skins. She had discovered an offshoot of the Sirannon - a fortuitous find, she deemed. This near to winter, many streams had dwindled to a muddy trickle on the dry Eregion plateau. Water was scarce.  
  
"We must prepare to leave."  
  
Celebrian nodded and helped Elrond to rouse the others. The elves spoke little, reclaiming their water skins from Celebrian's cart, sharing their rations with those who had none. Celebrian returned to sit beside Elrond and offered him an apple.  
  
Elrond accepted the fruit with thanks. "Where did you find this?"  
  
"There is a tree near the water. I sent some of the older children to pick more - we will soon want for food, I think."  
  
From the stream came a shout and a splash, followed by taunts and laughter. Elrond raised his eyebrows. "Your apple pickers?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the noise.  
  
Celebrian smiled. "I suspect more play than apple-picking is at hand."  
  
"It is good to hear them laugh. They have shed enough tears." Elrond looked around at the camp. There were many children here. His eyes narrowed. Too many. Elves did not breed in times of trouble. 'They did not know what was coming,' he realized, shocked. That Sauron would descend upon Eregion had been assumed in Forlond, once Celebrimbor revealed the whole sordid truth. Elrond had believed the smith would warn his people. Obviously, he had overestimated Celebrimbor's repentance and guilt. [8]  
  


**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**  
  


"Do you think that we have eluded their trackers?" Celebrian asked. They had traveled through night and day before making camp again in the evening.  
  
Elrond retrieved a pouch of dried fruit from his pack. Offering the pouch to Celebrian, he sat with her on the barren ground. To the east, the Ridge of Hollin rose tall against the sky. It marked the boundary between the Eregion plateau and the green valleys to the north. They would need be less sparing with water, but the march would grow more difficult as they left the flat lands behind.  
  
"No. I believe the ruse your parents planned has been successful, and Sauron was carried away from our trail. He will send an army in our wake, but he and the main body of his forces will turn toward Lindon, if your mother has reached Hadhodrond safely." He did not explain further the significance of Galadriel's movements. Either Celebrian knew of Nenya and would understand, or she did not know, and he could not explain without revealing the full truth; in observance of his King's orders, he could not speak of what Celebrian surely had a right to know.  
  
Elrond ground his teeth. Once again, he found his loyalties divided between the two elves. In frustration, he lashed out, knowing even as he spoke that the fault properly lay with Gil-galad, not Celebrian. "You should not have left as you did."  
  
Celebrian dipped her head. She knew this was true. "I should not have done as I did - I should not have permitted matters to go so far. Yet, he would have suffered in any case, Elrond - if I refused his hand, would his pain be any less?"  
  
The Peredhel refused to meet her eyes. "He was condemned from the moment you came to Minas Silivren," he said. 'As was I,' he added in thought. "You would not know him now. He is bitter, distant. He hardly sees Círdan. He surrounds himself with men - they die, yes, but they cannot see what is within the heart as an elf can. They do not see the coldness that lingers where once he had feeling."  
  
"Elrond!" Celebrian was aghast as his words. "Would you have me bind myself without love, against the will of my fëa?"  
  
"No." Elrond was silent.  
  
"I should not have dallied with him, knowing almost from the start that I could never love him. Still, I was hardly more than a child, guided by desires of the hroa and deaf to the warning in my heart. Do not tell me you never fell prey to the inadequacies of youth."  
  
"No, I did not. Neither did our King. We did not have that luxury, when a moment of youthful indiscretion might bring death to us and to all those around us."  
  
Galadriel's daughter looked at him searchingly, her eyes softening to pity, as if she understood what lay beneath his bitterness. "It is late, and I did not rest yesterday." She rose and took her leave of him. 'Some matters cannot be set to right, whatever regrets we may nurse for the past,' she added silently.  
  
Her thought drifted into his mind as she walked away. Elrond was glad enough to be left alone; he was not fit company this night. Chagrin, confusion and resentment warred within as he stared into the empty darkness that closed behind her as she retreated.  
  
Valar, he still loved her.  
  
As day broke on their march, they saw that a frost had come and snow glinted from the peaks of Hithaeglir. Their breath puffed in the chill air, though the cloudless sky promised afternoon warmth.  
  
Celebrian found him as he left his captains, their scouts and positions decided for the day. He met her apprehensively, recalling the terms on which they had parted yestereve. The elf-maid offered a half-smile, uncertain as to his mood, yet reassuring him that she would not hold his words as a barrier between them.  
  
"Where are you leading us?" Celebrian asked. "We cannot go much further north. Winter comes suddenly, here in the foothills - a warm day may bring deep snow in the night."  
  
Elrond grimaced. Snow would impede orcs more than elves, but would find them without shelter. Older elves might long tolerate such exposure, but he worried for the little ones. "I admit I do not know this region well."  
  
"If I recall the maps of the Dwarves rightly, we should soon meet the Bruinen. It will still be low, so long as snow does not melt in the mountains." She looked up at snow-capped Caradhras. "But once it does, the river runs fast and is difficult to cross - nearly impossible in spring. We would do well to put it between us and Sauron's forces."  
  
Elrond nodded, impressed at this strategy. No creature of Morgoth liked water. "Have you traveled much in the foothills?"  
  
She smiled as memory overtook her. "When things started to go ill in Eregion, and Annatar - Sauron's influence increased, Adar sought escape from the troubles in Ost-in-Edhil. Often, I went with him into the wild, to hunt and fish, though we did not come this far north." Her face clouded. She knew nothing of the fate of the warriors who had gone east, and worried for her parents.  
  
Elrond put a hand on her shoulder, as much to comfort her as to atone for his unfortunate words of the previous evening.  
  
Footsteps deliberately sounded in warning and they drew apart.  
  
Galdor came out of the morning shadows. "Are we ready to move?"  
  
"I believe we are."  
  
A light snowfall came as they approached the Bruinen, followed by a warm spell typical of the foothills. The river would rise swiftly in the coming days, but an elf might still attempt a crossing.  
  
Galdor, of mixed Telerin and Noldorin descent, had braved the Helcaraxë, survived the fall of Gondolin and now captained a ship that fished in the cold northern waters of Belegaer. He cheerfully volunteered to swim the icy river, carrying a rope that would serve as bridge to others. Soon they had a dozen such bridges in service, but the crossing progressed too slowly, and Elrond thought he could feel and hear the tromp of their pursuers.  
  
"You do not imagine it," Celebrian said, tilting her head toward the south. "But look at the river. It is rising."  
  
This was true. Through the long afternoon, the waters had risen, rapids forming where uprising rocks restrained the current. "But will it be enough to protect us?"  
  
"If Ulmo still protects the waters of his creation, and the Lord Shipwright says that he does, then it will take great effort for Sauron's filth to cross this river," Galdor reassured him.  
  
The river would give them some time, Elrond hoped - enough time, perhaps, to find a location his troops could defend, a location that would offer some protection against the elements. The orcs were coming and winter threatened. _'A Elbereth Gilthoniel! Ven avo awartho ned lum dhurwain!'_ he prayed. [9]  
  
**Imladris, 1701 Second Age**  
  
"The banners of the King!" Galdor pointed eastward to the crest of a hill overlooking the battlefield.  
  
Elrond peered across the muddy flats. The morning sun glinted off the shield of Gil-galad, radiant as the stars from which he drew his epessë.  
  
"Now I understand," he said. The orcs besieging them had not retreated with the sun, but continued to fight. They withered in the glare of Anor and took heavy losses.  
  
Eagles circling protectively over Imladris had told Gil-galad that he neared Elrond's position, and he did not rest his troops with the dawn. He pushed forward, pinning the orcs between the western army's advance and the forces defending the valley.  
  
Elrond met his old friend as the day waned. Stripping off their tunics, they submerged their dirt-encrusted, battle-worn bodies in a hot spring deep in the valley.  
  
"Ai, you cannot know how good it is to have a proper bath after so many days of marching." The elf ducked under the water to wet his hair. Reemerging, he continued, "This is a wondrous place you have found."  
  
In their isolation, the elves at Imladris had heard few tidings of the war in the west, though they had some inkling that the tide had turned: the orcs holding siege had lost half their number to forces recalled by Sauron.  
  
"There are still some pockets of invasion - men who fought chiefly for reasons of their own, not at Sauron's bidding, and orcs who do not yet know their Dark Lord has abandoned them and fled eastward," Gil-galad explained.  
  
"Then Sauron is not defeated?"  
  
"No," the High King said grimly. "He is not defeated."  
  
This subject, Elrond decided, and others, he would let lie. Gil-galad's hatred of the Maia arose from wounds of the Elder Days that had never closed. He could not but wonder if vengeance clouded the elf's judgment. Tonight, they spoke as friends; tomorrow, Elrond as advisor must put such questions before Gil-galad as King.  
  
There was still one matter of which he knew he must speak, as a friend. "Celebrian is here at Imladris."  
  
"You may tell her that I have had word from Durin - her parents passed safely through Hadhodrond and are now in Lórinand," the elf said, his features inscrutable.  
  
"She will be glad to hear these tidings."  
  
Gil-galad glanced at the Peredhel sharply, and Elrond feared his words had given away too much of his own sentiment. "Durin's folk will accompany her if she wishes to join her family."  
  
'Perhaps it would be best to face her. These old resentments do you no good, mellon. You defy Sauron - surely an elf-maid cannot not intimidate you," Elrond said silently. Gil-galad's mind had closed to him, however.  
  
The Peredhel greeted the next day with dread. What he had postponed the previous night he must now address. This task he had taken upon himself reluctantly but necessarily - if he did not speak frankly to the High King, who else would do so? Círdan alone shared with Elrond the trust and respect of Gil-galad, but Círdan was not at hand.  
  
He found Gil-galad in his tent, studying a map of Eriador. Markings dotted the lands - locations of the remnants of Sauron's armies, Elrond supposed.  
  
"I wish to move toward Bree in six days' time," Gil-galad said, without looking up. "I intend to leave Galdor here - it would be good to keep an outpost in the east, I think, and I need you in Forlond." [10]  
  
How to explain to his friend his vision of Imladris? He had spent most of the Second Age at Minas Silivren. He was not ungrateful. Gil-galad's friendship had been a boon to him when he felt as a fish out of water, bereft of the only real parent he had known and no longer linked to his twin. Of life before the sack of Arvernien, he had only vague memories: an absent father and a mother preoccupied by a cursed jewel. He wanted something else for himself: a home.  
  
"By your leave, I would remain here myself."  
  
The High King frowned. "That is not my wish, but I will not order you back to Forlond." His tone left little doubt that he took Elrond's request as a personal affront. "How many are here at Imladris?"  
  
"We had little success in Ost-in-Edhil. We arrived too late and with too few troops to challenge Sauron's forces. Perhaps a quarter of the elves of Eregion survived." [11]  
  
"All of Eriador suffered. The settlements of men will not recover," Gil-galad answered, his eyes sweeping over the parchment before him. The war had redrawn the map of Eriador; whole towns now lay in ghostly ruin.  
  
"These were not men, but elves - Noldor, under the protection of the High King."  
  
"Noldor who betrayed us, who heard Sauron speak against us and delivered us into his hand."  
  
He said nothing of the erstwhile folk of Fëanor, but Elrond heard his bitterness. Gil-galad, in his younger, less cynical days, had tried to make peace among the houses, burying his own resentments. That effort, Elrond saw, must now seem naïve, as trust misplaced.  
  
"Not all were of like mind. You know quite well that Sauron's greatest weapon is not orcs but dissent sown amongst the peoples of Ennor. The elves of Eregion opened their ears to him, but you, too, fell into his trap - you allowed such dissent to divide us. Many lives were lost because Forlond was indifferent to their plight." He winced at his harsh words, yet knew they must be said, even at his own peril. They were not done with Sauron, and could ill afford to repeat such mistakes.  
  
"That is why I sent you." The High King continued to study the map, seemingly preoccupied and only half-attentive to Elrond.  
  
"You hardly sent me with a fraction of the troops available to you. We sent messengers twice for reinforcements that never came. Did my messengers fail to reach Forlond?"  
  
"They did not."  
  
"Then tell me why you ignored their plea. We needed help, Tauren." Gil-galad's ears did not so much as twitch at Elrond's peculiar use of his title - again, a formality rarely observed between the two friends.  
  
"I could not leave the Havens unprotected."  
  
"The Havens were not under attack! How many did we lose in Eregion for lack of sufficient troops?"  
  
"I could not leave the Havens unprotected," Gil-galad repeated, at last meeting the eyes of the Peredhel. "If Sauron had taken Mithlond, all would have been lost. I had to make a choice."  
  
Elrond took a deep breath. Valar help him, he saw the wisdom in the High King's strategy. Gil-galad had sacrificed Eregion for the long-term. Had Mithlond fallen, the thousands of elves in Lindon would have had no escape. Had Mithlond fallen, they would have had no hope of Númenor's help on the western front.  
  
Could the elf Elrond had known early in the Second Age have made this choice?  
  
Doggedly, he moved on to another matter of contention. "What have you told Tar Minastir of the Rings?"  
  
"Nothing. I could not count on his help if he knew we unwittingly aided Sauron."  
  
"Do you think that wise? For you risk Númenor's distrust should they learn you have not dealt openly with them."  
  
"Men have not the memory of elves. The Elder Days are but a fable to them now, and their short lives cannot sustain grudges of great length. This war will pass into history, and then into legend, and our deception will be forgotten."  
  
Elrond shook his head. For all Gil-galad had done to make Númenor an ally, his own guarded heart hid from him the hearts of the Abonnen. Men could indeed retain grudges over many years; their very willingness to go to war against Sauron proved this. The slights of Morgoth remained in the consciousness of the Edain, and so Tar Minastir had recognized in Morgoth's lieutenant an enemy of Númenor. Elrond guessed that the king would take a dim view of the elves' part in Sauron's resurgence.  
  
"At least they should be warned of the Nine. Sauron will certainly seek to corrupt Númenóreans to his control." Sauron would take special pleasure in this - the Maiar, too, did not forget injuries of the past, and Sauron's defeat at the hand of Lúthien made him forever the enemy of her descendants.  
  
"How can I do so, save by revealing the whole of the tale? It is too late. The rings must remain a secret to those who already know. It is perhaps fortunate that none of the Mírdain survived."  
  
'Indeed, that is fortunate for you,' Elrond thought. "It is perhaps still more fortunate that only the Mírdain knew of the rings, and that Celebrimbor kept this secret even from the folk of Eregion, though it cost them bitterly when war came that they did not expect."  
  
"This he did at my bidding. We needed Númenor."  
  
Gil-galad met the Peredhel's stare unflinchingly. He had determined his course and would not now question its direction. Elrond saw reason in all that the King had done but such reason wanted compassion. Without the hesitation of conscience, the elf had proved bolder and more ruthless than Sauron anticipated. Thus had he forced the Dark Lord into retreat, but Elrond's heart warned him that the King's strategy would eventually bear ransom.  
  


**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**  
  


"There is much here to remind me of fair Ondolindë. Too much," Pengolodh said softly. Once a fortress besieged, Imladris grew daily to resemble more the home of which its Master had long dreamed.  
  
Elrond anticipated the sage's next words with sadness.  
  
"It is long past time for me to go West. If I needed evidence, it lies in the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil. We became proud, Elrond. Though the Lambengolmor had no part in the making of the Rings of Power, we suffered from the same illusion - that our art alone was reason. [12]  
  
"It is a weakness in the Quendi, that we fall in love with our creations so easily, and forget what is true beauty. Guard against this. Do not make the mistake of Turgon - Imladris shall shine as the last beacon of light in times to come, but only while its Master values wisdom more than its walls.  
  
Elrond listened carefully to his old teacher's words. His guiding vision, he hoped, might forestall the pride of which Pengolodh warned. He wished Imladris to be a home - not only to himself, but also to other peoples displaced by the misfortunes of life. He wished Imladris to be a home filled with the laughter of children, children who would have the security he had not had as a child. Yet one piece of his dream felt short: Imladris lacked its Lady.  
  
This, he could remedy only in betrayal of his dearest friend.  
  


* * *

  
[1] _Herdir_  

    Master  
  

[2] _mellonen_  

    my friend (_mellon_ + _-en_, first person possessive suffix)  
  

[3] _ennin_  

    Valian years  
  

[4] 'She joined Elrond as his equal, as a leader among the refugees.'  

    This is entirely invented for the purposes of this story - there is nothing to support it.  
  

[5] 'Her parents and all who could wield a sword proposed to draw Sauron's forces from the ruined city toward Hadhodrond; Galadriel counted on help from Durin's folk.'  

    This is one account of the movements of Galadriel and Celeborn. (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' p 256 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  

[6] _muindor_  

    brother  
  

[7] 'their respective choices had severed the bond of twinning'  

    That the two were twins is noted in several places, and I don't believe anything exists to refute this. (ref. _The War of the Jewels_, 'The Tale of Years' p 348 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

[8] 'Elrond had believed the smith would warn his people.'  

    This is speculation, but I should think that if the people of Eregion knew that Annatar was The Maia Formerly Known As Sauron and would soon be coming for the rings, they would have fled to Lindon in short order.  
  

[9] _'A Elbereth Gilthoniel! Ven avo awartho ned lum dhurwain!'_  

    'Oh, Elbereth Gilthoniel! Do not abandon us in our darkest hour!' (Lit. 'Us do not abandon in time our darkest.') _Men_ is lenited to _ven_ as a direct object. _Lum_ is formed from _lû_ + _-m_, first person plural possessive suffix. _Dhurwain_ is the lenited form of _durwain_, _dûr_ + _-wain_, superlative suffix. In both cases, I've assumed that _û_ would shorten to _u_ with the addition of a suffix, as attested by _guren_ from _gûr_.  
  

[10] "I intend to leave Galdor here - it would be good to keep an outpost in the east, I think, and I need you in Forlond."  

    This was formally decided at the first White Council, according to _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn', but I see no reason that Gil-galad might not have considered it before that time.  
  

[11] 'We arrived too late and with too few troops to challenge Sauron's forces.'  

    Again, this is speculation, but it does seem that it took a long time for help to arrive in Eregion after Sauron first attacked.  
  

[12] Lambengolmor  

    Pengolodh was the leader of the Lambengolmor in Middle-Earth. The artsy atmosphere of Ost-in-Edhil would be a good fit for the loremasters, though I don't believe they are ever formally associated with Eregion. (ref. _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar' p 396 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  

  
  



	3. Gilgalad

**Author's Note:** Minor revision 08-06-2006: As RavenLady helpfully pointed out, Narsil was not made by the Númenóreans but by dwarves in the First Age. I've corrected this in the text.  
**Disclaimer:** All characters, with the exception of the dwarf Buri, belong to Tolkien. The name of Oropher's wife is mine. Translations of Elvish (Sindarin unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end. Links to websites referenced in my notes can be found via my home page.

**Gil-galad**

**Imladris, SA 1701**

"My heart counsels me now as it did when first I heard of these Rings," Círdan told the assembled elves. "Then, we could not destroy them. Now, their connection to Celebrimbor is no longer an issue." The ancient elf searched the assembly for Celeborn, who met his eyes with understanding. "As long as Sauron wears the One Ring, protection of the Three becomes a greater onus than even the protection of our land and people." (1)

"Yet should Sauron be deprived of the One Ring, much good might be done with the Elven Rings," Galadriel said. "Sauron never touched them - they were made by Celebrimbor alone. We might still put them to the purpose for which he intended them."

"That seems slim hope - the risk outweighs the benefit," Celeborn argued.

Círdan had guessed the Sindarin lord would agree with him. He wished that he had been able to persuade Celeborn's cantankerous cousin to quit his seclusion in the Greenwood and attend the Council. The Noldor had forged the Rings for interests peculiar to the Noldor; the voice of reason would come from the Sindar. (2)

"To heal the hurts of Ennor is no small benefit," Gil-galad responded.

Círdan frowned. 'Or to heal hurts of the soul? Your pain clouds your judgment, my foster-son,' he thought. "It is true that Sauron never touched these Rings. Yet, his influence was upon Celebrimbor in their forging, and he persuaded the son of Curufin to do what he should not have done - what his heart should have warned him not to do. To manipulate the very elements, to manipulate time itself - such powers are reserved by the Ainur and the One." (3)

"Yet in such powers lay our hopes, if elves are to remain in Ennor. The grace to pass into the West is not equally shared - duty or the Ainur themselves deny it. The Rings shall not be destroyed," the High King decided.

---------------------------------------------------

In just a few rounds of the sun, warriors and lovers had worn this path smooth. Here, the river cut deep into the valley, revealing a breathtaking stratum of stone in the walls of the canyon. A thicket of greenery grew under the spray of the falls, and more than a few elves had emerged from those trees with promises of betrothal on their lips.

Upon the Council's adjournment, Elrond had come here in the hope that the beauty of this place would ease his heart. The healer in him shared the sentiments of Galadriel and Gil-galad. Yet, no elf did he so respect as he did Círdan. Moreover, had not Pengolodh warned against this failing of the elves, this love for their own creations?

"You have been avoiding me, Elrond Peredhel."

He started; so wrapped in his thoughts had he been that he had missed the elf perched near the falls. "You surprised me."

A silvery laugh answered him. "Well, that is evident - else you should have found some pressing matter requiring your attention at the house. Am I so dreadful to you?" Celebrian teased.

"That could never be so, hirilen," he answered earnestly.

Her tone changed to match the seriousness of his. "I did not come to Imladris for the Council, Elrond. I came to see you.

"I have known this forever," she continued, unmindful of the Peredhel's gaping stare. "As our friendship deepened, I saw that what I felt for you, I would never feel for Gil-galad."

"Say no more," Elrond said urgently. "If you truly care for me, then you will not mention this again. You broke trust with Gil-galad - I will not do the same."

"You speak of trust, yet you would have the three of us unhappy in a lie."

"Nay - I wish only to explain…why I cannot," he faltered, deliberately using the elf-maid's own words.

Celebrian winced. "You do not love me."

"Hours I passed, when we were still called young, my eyes unable to look away as you bent over your books or worked in your garden. Still, my breath catches at the sight of you, and your mere presence brings joy I cannot explain.

"But he would know in a moment that any bliss we might find together has been long in coming," Elrond continued regretfully. "He would know that the last soul he calls 'mellon' has been the instrument of his festering sore - and he is nearly a brother to me."

"You love him more."

"My love for him is older, wrought in the ruin of everything we once held dear. I will not betray him. One cannot make a bond out of broken trust."

Celebrian bowed her head. "But love is sweeter for sacrifice. It will endure, Elrond - to the end of Arda, if it must." She looked up, her silver and gold hair falling back, her grey eyes, unguarded at last, shining with love.

Elrond allowed himself to meet her eyes, to appreciate her loveliness without fear of discovery. "That is a long wait," he sighed.

"Indeed - but what else can we do? The whims of the fëa are not ours to direct. We are not fickle as men - our hearts do not give up so easily. Healing shall come to him, Elrond, with time, and for time, we do not lack.

"It is left to us to decide whether we will let the past consume us, or make what we can of the future," she added.

Elrond took her hand and raised it to his lips in a chaste kiss. Her declaration of love brought such happiness to him that he wanted to dance and sing silly songs of love.

Later, in his quarters, he smiled to himself at the shock of his advisors and captains should they find the serious loremaster in such a state.

"What is so amusing?"

He looked up to see Gil-galad at the door. A single glance at the High King's face reminded Elrond of his guilt, if not in deed, then in thought.

"It troubles me to be at odds with Círdan over the fate of the Rings," the elf continued.

Elrond relaxed, thankful that his friend was too distracted to pursue his initial question. "I feel the same."

"Yet, if the Three can do all that Celebrimbor intended--." Something like hope flitted across his face, and Elrond realized with a sinking feeling that hope looked utterly out of place in the High King's mien.

Celebrian was wrong. Healing would not come to Gil-galad; the elf would not allow it. He was mired in the past, unable to shake the sense that everything he loved would abandon him. Elrond's love for his friend could not heal this; to break his trust would destroy him.

**Imladris, SA 2350**

The rooms across from Elrond's apartments belonged to the High King, though he came to occupy them less often these days. Still, no other guest used them - not Galadriel, not Gildor or any other elf-lord. At this time, Gil-galad was in residence. The footman had retired for the night, and after a perfunctory knock, Elrond let himself in, following the flicker of candlelight to the study.

He knew the elf would be awake. He had seen the High King pacing the halls in the dark hours. Cold bathwater, meals of the simplest fare - his friend had become an ascetic in body as in spirit.

Hair unbound, clad in his dressing gown, the elf bent over a book on his desk with such rapt attention that he did not notice Elrond's presence until the latter spoke.

"I see now why it is so draughty in here. I will call for a servant to relight the fire."

"No," Gil-galad said sharply. "That is not necessary."

"I would at least take the chill off the air."

Gil-galad said nothing, absorbed in his book. Elrond glanced over his shoulder.

The elf looked up, raising his eyebrows at this intrusion. "Mellon?"

Though it came from his own library, Elrond had doubts about the value of the tome that held the High King's interest. Written by a _mûl_ liberated from Tol-in-Gaurhoth by Lúthien, its author's loathing for Sauron was unquestionable. Nonetheless, Morgoth and his lieutenant had often released captive elves to spread lies and dissent among the Noldor. The book offered much insight into the Maia's habits, but Elrond wondered if such insight reflected Sauron's manipulation of the unfortunate author rather than true revelation. (4)

Not for the first time, Elrond questioned his friend's judgment. Vengeance on behalf of Gil-galad's father and Finrod obsessed the elf to a fault; still, Elrond perceived an overwhelming sense of loss buried beneath hatred and righteous anger.

"Rather grim late night reading."

Gil-galad set aside his book with a sigh, resigning himself to Elrond's presence. "I have wanted to talk to you about Númenor," he said. "Relations with Armenelos have grown cold, and I cannot decipher the reason for it."

Elrond sat down and pondered the High King's question for a long moment. "What have you been able to learn about the Rings that Sauron took from Celebrimbor?"

"I cannot discover the disposition of the Nine," Gil-galad said slowly, "but on the fingers of Númenor's king or any pure-blooded descendant of Elros, such trinkets would prove an invaluable weapon to the holder of the One Ring."

"I cannot but wonder if that has come to pass."

"I do not think so. The Lords of Andúnië still come to Forlond - if anything, we have become more closely allied. They find themselves out of favor in Armenelos for their friendship with the elves, but they assure me their lord is no friend to Sauron. Ancalimon knows he would subjugate and destroy Númenor if he could."

The High King's dispassionate tone unnerved Elrond. As enemies, the Maia and the High King were all too well matched. In their deadly game of chess, they moved their pieces with care, each recognizing the impasse they had reached, each counting on chance to rattle the board and reset the game in his favor. And each would risk great loss to have mastery of the other.

"You curry favor with these men, yet you keep a vital secret from them. Do not forget that these men - and the elves of your realm - are not mere pawns in this game you play."

The elf sighed. "I do not mean to sound callous. Yet such things as friendship and fairness have no meaning in times of war."

"I know your intentions are noble. Yet, I sense a coldness in your heart that chills me more than these rooms. The fire of your anger brings you no warmth, my friend."

"I do not seek warmth."

Hours later, Elrond sat before a roaring fire in his own rooms, unable to stop shivering.

**Forlond, SA 3430**

"Gil-galad."

"Elendil." They clasped arms in familiar greeting.

"Come. We have much to discuss." Gil-galad clapped a hand on his back with a heartiness he did not feel. They went into his library. Gil-galad shut the door carefully and locked it. He took a box from his robes and laid it on the desk.

Of all the men he had known, Elendil had come closest to piercing the hard shell of his heart. Gil-galad had not wanted this, had resisted it, but something in the man - his righteousness, courage and hatred of the enemy - reminded him of himself. Like him, Elendil had come of age in a time of horror; like him, he had lost many he loved. Their pasts lay under the sea, lost forever in a struggle between powers greater than both kings.

Now, he was to test Elendil's friendship as few friendships had been tested.

He spoke simply, without embellishment. He spoke of events that had occurred over a thousand years before the man's birth. He spoke of the box that sat before him.

Elendil sat in silence; given to careful thought, he let Gil-galad complete the tale before he spoke.

"These Rings - made by the hands of the elves - have been used to corrupt men of Númenor - used to control these things that slew my son's people and forced him into exile." Elendil stood, turning his back to the elf. "And you did not think to warn my forefathers of this, lord?" (5)

"You must understand that I feared to lose Númenor's aid in the war."

"Yes, I understand. Whatever it took to save Eriador and the elves, Númenor be damned."

"How long could Númenor have lasted alone, had Sauron driven us from Ennor?"

Elendil turned to face the elf. "Well, we have seen, not long. Certainly, we had no help from Forlond when Númenor hosted Sauron."

Gil-galad stood, anger washing over him. "You know that the corruption of your kinsman's line began without Sauron's aid. Had Pharazôn been a friend to the elves and called for our help, we would have aided him. We could do little with your king turned against us. I do not have that kind of strength at my disposal. I do not have the numbers, Elendil."

"But do you not see that secrets become suspicion, and suspicion, fear and finally hate? Perhaps the One Ring aided him, but you had already prepared the way for Sauron. And perhaps you, too, were affected by the Ring, persuaded against trust."

The man placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward until their faces nearly touched. The elf turned his head, uncomfortable with Elendil's nearness.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

Elendil did not move. His gaze did not relent. Gil-galad forced himself to meet Elendil's eyes. "I trust you."

He sat down and rested his chin on his hands pensively. Elendil studied him for a moment before taking his seat.

"And now, you need our numbers, is that it?"

Gil-galad shifted uncomfortably. "We must strike soon, I think. Sauron has not yet had time to build an army. Once he has done so, he will bring war upon Gondor. We cannot let that happen."

Elendil had spoken of such things with Isildur, but he would not give away his hand. This time, the partnership of men and elves would not be made by the wishes of elves alone. "I can promise Anárion's alliance. But it will take much more to bring down Barad-dûr."

"I have been in contact with Durin. I believe he would be willing to commit the dwarves of Hadhodrond to such an endeavor." (6)

"And what of the elves of the Greenwood?"

The Silvan elves had not fled Ennor as had many of the Eldar during the Dark Years; Oropher had at his command a sizeable army. "Sauron's allies have not left them in peace - they must see that we share the same goal."

"You will have to tell them everything you have told me."

"It is a late hour to secure their loyalty. We may lose it." They would be furious, Gil-galad realized. Elendil was his ally, his...friend. The dwarves were fiercely independent, ultimately unpredictable; he grimaced in anticipation of Oropher's reaction. The forging of the Rings would only confirm the Sinda's suspicions of the Noldor.

"We march on Mordor, under the very Shadow. Mistrust would put a powerful weapon in the hands of the Deceiver."

"You need not remind me, mellon."

**Imladris, SA 3434**

They had sent away the scholars and brought noise to a place that usually heard only the scratching of quills. Maps covered nearly every surface of the library. Commissars bent over long scrolls, matching troops to provisions and weapons. A merchant from Hadhodrond checked deliveries against his own lists. Celeborn stood by a table with Elrond, discussing movement of the great army over Hithaeglir. A young scout from Imladris pointed to the map, marking places in which snipers were likely to hide.

At another table, Elendil studied a map of the Vale of Anduin. "We should be able to cross the river at Laffirien," he pointed. "The bridge is held by the townsfolk." (7)

"Do we have their alliance?" Gil-galad asked.

Celeborn looked up from his discussion with Elrond. "The men of the Vale will follow Oropher; there has long been friendship between their peoples." (8)

The day's golden light retreated from the library, leaving long shadows as Arien descended. Isildur, a man of action, gave his apologies and left early in the afternoon. Buri of Hadhodrond toiled on, as if to prove that a dwarf could withstand as much tedium as an elf, but now, even the elves were beginning to look a bit weary.

In the end, Gil-galad and Elendil were left alone. Gil-galad felt no fatigue; passion for detail, for careful weights and measures, for learned guesses as to the movements of the enemy - these obsessions had made a great commander from an untried warrior.

Elendil had more elf-like patience than his son, but eventually, he too grew restless. "You may do well enough on bread and water, but I would enjoy the works of Imladris' chef as long as I can before we are forced to rely on army rations."

Gil-galad gave in; he knew he would return to the library in the late hours. Sleep would not come to him this night or many nights hence.

Celebrian stepped into their path as they quit the library. "My mother wishes to speak to you."

"Tell her I will meet her in her rooms after the evening meal." Gil-galad moved as if to continue on his way, but the elf-maid put her hand on his arm.

"Might we also speak a moment, Tauren? Alone," she added, with a glance at Elendil.

Long dormant, his body stirred at her touch. He shook off her hand. "I think we have little to discuss."

"Perhaps you do not, but I do."

"Then it should have been said long ago." He cringed at the thought of enduring her apologies, her pity; he cursed himself for feelings he could not master. "Good day."

Elendil's eyes narrowed as he studied the elf's face. "If the grudge you bear Sauron holds as much bitterness, then he would be wise to fear your coming."

---------------------------------------------------

She awaited him on the balcony, her famous mirror conspicuously placed between them.

"If it is my future you would show me, I do not wish to know."

Galadriel smiled as one who is older and wiser. "And I would not allow it. Some things must be left to chance. That is not why I called you here."

Gil-galad swallowed his irritation. He imagined that if he were wearing his circlet, it would have slipped down his forehead like a father's crown on a child.

"Imladris must hold," she began briskly.

The haven would shelter the remaining leaders of elves and men - Isildur's youngest son, Galadriel herself - but to lead what if all were lost in Mordor? No, Imladris would guard over something more precious, something that could turn everything if its defenses fell.

"His minions will be coming for them, seeking them in every quarter of elf-kind in Ennor." She leveled her eyes with his. She knew, then, that he had given Vilya to Elrond.

"I do not intend to leave Imladris without defense." He hesitated. "Nor do I leave it without a leader. Order things as you will, _gwanur_. You waste my time if you ask for my authority. You have never recognized it." (9)

Galadriel's face softened. "There, you are wrong. I have never spoken against you - what advice I give remains between us."

"And what of the advice you gave your daughter? Did you not speak against me then?" He groaned inwardly at his words. Perhaps she had reason to treat him as a child.

"You have been a great King, but as an elf, you have been found wanting." She held his eyes; he found it impossible to turn away from their piercing light. "_Idsarnin_, 'Stoneheart', the Silvan people call you. Is it death you seek in Mordor? Revenge? Then you shall have it. Yet much more than your injured heart hangs in the balance. Do not forget that you hold the hopes of all Ennor." (10)

**Mordor, SA 3441**

Day had come, or what passed for day under the noxious clouds that hid the sun over Mordor. The Alliance had Sauron pressed to the wall - for several days, they had seen only isolated sorties. The orcs looked starved; they were not warriors, but the lesser slave breeds.

"Perhaps we will at last see the end, if such troops are all that Sauron has left to him," Elendil suggested hopefully.

Gil-galad shook his head. "He will come forth." He could not suppress a shudder. As a child on Balar, he had seen the awesome power of Ossë. He did not underestimate the Maiar, and such a being in possession of the One Ring…he refused to finish the thought.

In his tent, he found Elrond awaiting him.

"Something is astir. The dwarves hear noises in the stones of Orodruin - they feel the rock under their feet trembling."

The High King sat down heavily, resting his head in his hands. He had not the gift of foresight, but the same certainty that had pressed Vilya into Elrond's hand before the march now assailed him: he would not see the end of this war.

_Morannon Gate, Late 3434_

By the green standard of Eryn Galen, Gil-galad easily located the tents of the wounded. Bodies lay under grey cloaks of Lórien or green cloaks of Oropher's folk. To find their King was another matter. At last, in a corner undistinguished from the pallets on which the other elves lay, Gil-galad caught sight of a blond elf speaking to one with silver hair. With a nod, the blond elf stood to make way for him.

"So you come to see your old nemesis a last time before he passes into the care of Mandos. How pleased you must be that defiance brings my death. Yet my grandson tells me that the Morannon has fallen, so perhaps this old elf is not so foolish as you thought."

"We are kin. We should not have been enemies," Gil-galad frowned. (11)__

Oropher snorted. "Kin has strange meaning to the Golodhrim." (12)__

"You speak of crimes of another Age, crimes in which I had no part."

The older elf looked at him with pity. "Stone remembers its hurts but cannot feel, Idsarnin. A wife slain is a grief that lingers across the Ages. You, too, have known grief, but not love.

"My heart is at ease. My son takes up my standard, and I go to my Anórieth. For what do you live or die? Who awaits you at this journey's end?"

Who, indeed? Oropher's words still haunted him. Was this a futile endeavor? At times, the clear vision that had guided him - from the first discussions with Elendil, through the impossible Council at Imladris and into the very heart of Mordor - at times, this vision deserted him. Doubts arose with every setback; the defeat of Sauron seemed impossible and Gil-galad knew he had chanced everything on the Alliance.

_"'Nor shall anything of my realm endure that a son should inherit.'"_ (13)

"Mellon?"

"Finrod saw his death, he saw the futility in all the Noldor had done in Beleriand. Am I but heir to foolish pride, a vengeful king who has led all of Ennor into darkness?"

Elrond bit his lip. "You forget that Finrod's death was not in vain. Though we have not seen Eärendil these long years, his light is steady and does not desert us. Nor is your death, if that is truly your fate, in vain. We **will** defeat Sauron."

"I leave no heir, Elrond," the elf answered tiredly. "I leave no heir, and my body can find no heat to overcome the coldness that seeps from my soul. For what purpose have I endured these long years?"

"For this," the Peredhel answered, waving his arm in the direction of the tents and their inhabitants. "The free peoples could not long endure Sauron's threat. In time, with his strength amassed he would cover the land. You alone have seen the way through these years. Your vision is our hope."

---------------------------------------------------

The heat was unendurable, and brave warriors drew back, their skin already scorched. Gil-galad looked to his left and saw that only Elendil remained. The man gave him a mirthless grin and cocked an eyebrow. "Fortune favors the brave - and Eru takes care of the foolish." (14)

With the clarity of one whose death awaits him, Gil-galad saw the flaw in all his careful planning. The ordering of Ennor would fall to men, and the elves would fade. Already it had begun; it had begun the moment Sauron had stepped forth. Sauron had needed no sword or mace to defeat Orodreth and Finrod and no force to beguile Celebrimbor. What hope had their _Moriquenderinwa_ kinsman? (15)

Such thoughts, he knew, were of Sauron's design, yet as ever, there was a kernel of truth amid the Dark Lord's lies.

_'You hold the hopes of all Ennor.'_

He could not defeat the Dark Lord; he could not defeat the Doom of Mandos. He fought not for elves, but Men.

_"Nin estel Edain!"_ With a cry, he launched himself into the searing heat beside Elendil.

Together, they battled with Sauron, Aeglos and Narsil finding weaknesses in their foe as if guided by a providential hand. Blistered, his hair alight, Gil-galad drew in close, striking the fatal blow even as Sauron's heat engulfed him. From a distance, he heard Elendil's last brave shout of triumph. Narsil shattered like glass; Gil-galad's body burned. (16, 17, 18)

'So this is warmth,' he thought.

All but the insistent call of Námo faded to darkness.

---------------------------------------------------

"I have failed him."

"The fate of the Ring now lies in the hands of men," Círdan said. "The fate of Ennor now lies in the hands of men."

"I should have been more persuasive. I could have thrown Isildur to the fires."

"No," Círdan said sharply. "The moment you thought to do this, you would have been a thrall to the Ring yourself."

Elrond nodded, understanding perfectly. "But I wonder if somehow I meant to fail, meant for the ends for which he gave his life to prove as ephemeral as all that he loved."

Círdan put a hand on his shoulder. "You gave him far more than he had right to ask of you." The mariner's face moved with sorrow. Elrond recalled that he had lost a friend and his King. Círdan had lost a son. "Not even Celebrian could have healed what was lost in Beleriand. You are stronger than he was. Have no shame in that, Elrond.

"Bond yourself to her, and make the home you have always wanted out of the house. Let the past lie, lest your heart grow cold and the years a bitterness to you."

Above, the sky had cleared at last. In the early hours of the morning, Eärendil glowed brightly in the east: a father who had abandoned his family, a father who had brought hope to all.

_"It is left to us to decide whether we will let the past consume us, or make what we can of the future."_

As long as the Ring remained intact, his journey in Ennor would not be complete. This, Elrond could do for his King. Time stretched before him. He meant to make the most of it.

---------------------------------------------------

(1) "Now, their connection to Celebrimbor is no longer an issue."  
I've assumed that Celebrimbor invested part of his fëa in the Rings as Sauron invested himself in the One Ring. There is no evidence for this.

(2) "Celeborn's cantankerous cousin"  
Two lines in _LOTR_ seem to imply that Legolas and Celeborn are kin: _'I am an Elf and a kinsman here'_ (_FOTR_, Book 2 Ch VI, p 339 pub. Houghton Mifflin); _'Welcome, son of Thranduil! Too seldom do my kindred journey hither from the North'_. (_FOTR_, Book 2 Ch VII, p 346 pub. Houghton Mifflin) Celeborn is kin to Thingol, (_LOTR_, 'Appendix B, The Second Age' p 1057 pub. Houghton Mifflin) and Tolkien refers to Oropher and Thranduil as _'Sindarin Princes'_. (_Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn, Appendix B' p 270 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey) It seems likely that Oropher, like Celeborn, is a descendant of Elmo. (_Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' p 244 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey) I've written them as cousins, though there is no reason to suppose this particular relationship.

(3) "To manipulate the very elements, to manipulate time itself - such powers are reserved by the Ainur and the One."  
Tolkien implies that Círdan **never** used his Ring: _'...In two domains the bliss and beauty of the Elves remained still undiminished while that Age endured: In Imladris; and in Lothlórien... .'_ (_The Silmarillion_, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age' p 358 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey) He surrenders his Ring upon Gandalf's arrival. As an Ainu, Gandalf has the right to use the powers conferred by the Ring.

(4) _mûl_  
slave

(5) "And you did not think to warn my forefathers of this, lord?"  
_'I do not think Ar-Pharazôn knew anything about the One Ring. The Elves kept the matter of the Rings very secret, as long as they could.'_ (_The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien_, No. 211 p 279 pub. Houghton Mifflin)

(6) "I have been in contact with Durin."  
We do not know who ruled Khazad-dûm at the time of the Last Alliance - I've just guessed that it might have been one of the Durins.

(7) "The bridge is held by the townsfolk."  
This bridge was located at the ford where the dwarves crossed in _The Hobbit_. In Bilbo's time, obviously, the bridge no longer existed, but Tolkien tells us that it was used by Gil-galad's army on the way to Mordor. (_Unfinished Tales_, 'Disaster of the Gladden Fields' p 294n pub. Ballantine/Del Rey) The town of Laffirien is my invention.

(8) "The men of the Vale will follow Oropher; there has long been friendship between their peoples."  
Tolkien never mentions the participation of the men of the Vale in the Alliance, but they would have had good reason to join in the effort to defeat Sauron. Like the elves of the Greenwood, they lived a precarious existence during the Dark Years. We do know that they were not strangers to Oropher's people.

During the First Age, the Wood-elves were friendly with men as they made their way west to Beleriand (where Finrod would remark on the similarity of their languages). (_The Silmarillion_, 'Of the Coming of Men into the West' pp 163-5 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey) Not all of these men went west with Bëor, however, and those who remained behind became the Woodmen and Beornings. (_The Peoples of Middle-earth_, 'Of Dwarves and Men' p 311 pub. Houghton Mifflin) In TA 2, _'there were certain Woodmen who got news to Thranduil by runners'_ regarding the attack on Isildur, confirming that the elves of the Greenwood and the Woodmen were neither strangers nor hostile to one another at the time of the Last Alliance. (_Unfinished Tales_, 'Disaster of the Gladden Fields' p 288 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)

It seems more likely to me that these scattered and independent villages of men would have marched with Oropher's people, whom they knew, rather than with the Dúnedain, who tended to interact with the native peoples of Middle-earth only as colonists and usurpers.

(9) _gwanur_  
kinswoman (also kinsman)

(10) _Idsarnin_  
lit. heart of stone (neo-Silvan). Constructed from CE _sarnâ_, 'of stone' + CE _îdî_, 'heart' (with the implication of thought or feeling). CE long vowels appear to become short in Danian/Nandorin words; the fate of _-î_ cannot be determined, but it would disappear in any case due to syncope of identical vowels in Danian/Nandorin. The genitive ending _-in_ (replacing CE genitive ending _-â_) is presumed from Tolkien's translations of Silvan _Lórinand_ and _Lindórinand_. (_The Lost Road_, 'Etymologies'; _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar'; _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn'; Helge Fauskanger's site: _Ardalambion_, 'Nandorin')

(11) "We are kin."  
If Celeborn and Oropher are kin through Elmo, Gil-galad would also be kin to Oropher through his great-grandmother Eärwen.

(12) _Golodhrim_  
Noldor (class plural) - this is the not-so-polite version of the word; the Noldor preferred _Gódhellim_.

(13) _"'Nor shall anything of my realm endure that a son should inherit.'"_  
(_The Silmarillion_, 'Of the Noldor in Beleriand' p 151 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)

(14) "Fortune favors the brave."  
source: Virgil's _Aeneid_

(15) _Moriquenderinwa_  
Dark-elven (Q). This variant is based on constructions such as _Sindarinwa_ and _Noldorinwa_, which distinguish adjectives from nouns referring to elves and languages.

(16) _"Nin estel Edain!"_  
"For the hope of Men!"

(17) Aeglos  
_Aeglos_ appears in _LOTR_ as _Aiglos_, but Sindarin words derived from Old Sindarin _ai_ (CE _aj_) come out as _oe_ or _ae_, and _Aeglos_ is the word that appears in _The Silmarillion_. _Aiglos_ may be an orthographic concession - _ae_ has the sound of English 'ai', which is the intended pronunciation. This would not be obvious to the English-speaking reader when spelt with the Sindarin diphthong. (Didier Willis' site: _Tolkien - Hiswelókë - Le Dragon de Brume_, 'Sindarin Dictionary')

(18) Gil-galad's body burned  
_'The Ring misseth, maybe, the heat of Sauron's hand, which was black and yet burned like fire, and so Gil-galad was destroyed... .'_ (_FOTR_, Book 2, Ch II p 246 pub. Houghton Mifflin)


End file.
